Tuesday, 30 March 2010

On Christmas Day morning, I crept into the spare room and into the spare bed next to Matt.

Despite everything I had built up the courage to say the previous night, Matt’s manipulations were still inside my head, and overnight I had convinced myself that maybe it would all be alright and maybe there was nothing really that wrong with us after all.

As we lay there and I looked at Matt so lost and upset, my heart went out to him and I felt so guilty for making him feel that way. I lay behind him and put my arms around his waist, and after almost an hour of stillness I was the one to break the silence.

“We can try again,” I said in a whisper. “Please don’t be upset. We can get it back to how it was before. Just say you want to try again and we can.”

For the first time, Matt had listened to the worries I had about our relationship, and even though deep in my gut I knew things could never be the same again I still offered him that chance.

“OK,” Matt replied as he fought against his tears. “OK, we will try again.”

Looking back now, I think I did this as self esteem was so low and I really didn’t want to hurt him. It was Christmas Day, and it’s too awful to break up with someone on Christmas Day isn’t it?

Even as he said yes, half of me was kicking myself for letting him back into my life after everything I had finally managed to say, whilst the other half was relieved that we might be able to salvage our relationship.

We talked for about an hour, and I said I would really try to get things back on track, all the time knowing that I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. But I wanted to save the remnants of Christmas. I never wanted to split up with him on Christmas Day but my feelings after finding the present at the start of December ate me up inside to a point where I couldn’t see any other way out.

We finally got up and went downstairs and sat on the sofa.

“Well, I might as well give you your presents as I’ve already paid for them,” Matt said in a detached voice, as he lifted a small pile of gifts onto the coffee table.

Who said romance was dead eh?

I didn’t expect to see the box that had been neatly wrapped by the jewellers as he would never propose to me after what had happened the night before, would he?

However, the box was there, on the top of the pile.

Matt passed me the presents one by one. A DVD. Some vouchers for a spa. A new purse. And then he handed me the neatly wrapped present. The one I had been dreading.

“I hope you like it," he said in a flat tone.

I carefully untied the bow and lifted the paper at one corner. Breathing in slowly, I opened the other corner. The paper came away in my hands and I held the box nervously in front of me. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was inside.

I lifted the lid and there it was.

It was a silver bangle. The one that I had circled in the jewellery catalogue. The knocking noise on the side of the box when I had shaken it was the bangle hitting the side, not a ring box. It was beautiful: silver, with a white and black mother of pearl inlay.

I felt so relieved, but also so stupid. It wasn’t a ring and I wasn’t engaged but Matt and I were still together despite everything I had built up the courage to say.

We had an OK Christmas together. I think we put a brave face on it for each other, especially when we went over to my parents on Boxing Day.

We eventually split up a few days later after a disastrous New Year’s Eve. Matt had finally realised that things were different and my feelings had changed but the truth was really hard for him to take.

I still feel bad for how it all happened but I don’t think it could have happened in any other way as my self esteem had been at an all time low. Maybe I was a bit depressed (something which Matt suggested as I was constantly tired and feeling low) but who knows.

As for Foxy Scott...

On our return to work after the Christmas break our email flirtation picked up where it had left off. We were arranging to meet up and go out for a drink, when at the end of the first week back, Scott and a few other salesmen were called in to see their manager and were made redundant.

It was a total shock, not just to Scott, his colleagues and me, but to the entire office. Quite understandably Scott’s priorities changed from organising to go out for a drink with me to looking for a new job, although he kept saying that we should definitely go out. He even suggested getting together on a night when he was supposed to be going to football training, cheekily saying that he could tell his footie mates that he was going for a massage.

We never did meet up.

I told him that I had split up with Matt but that he was not a factor in my decision (and honestly, he wasn’t), and whilst the emails continued for a while after he left the company they did start to fizzle out.

The final email that I received from him said that his fiancée - shit I thought she was his girlfriend - had read one of our messages on Facebook. He had been forced to lie and say he had been organizing leaving drinks with everyone from work and not just trying to arrange a date for me and him to meet up.

Whether this is true or not I don’t know. Part of me thinks it might be, but a bigger part thinks that he enjoyed the flirtation but when it looked likely that we would take it to the next level his conscience got the better of him.

Either that, or he just wanted a bit of harmless fun and enjoyed the thrill of the chase but never actually wanted to cheat on his girlfriend.

Whichever way it was, I don’t mind. If anything more had happened between us then I would have been cast as the “other” woman which is horrible when I stop to think about it.

It’s weird, but in all the time that Scott and I were flirting with each other, I hardly stopped to think about his poor, unknowing girlfriend - I mean fiancée - even though I know I awful it would have been for her if she found out. I feel terrible about this now and can’t believe that I acted in such a way.

I think I’m going to stop calling my ex the Evil Cockbag now, as whilst I can’t forgive him for sleeping with someone else behind my back, I can understand how he felt and how easily it can happen.

I know all this might make you think I'm a total bitch but I promise you I'm not. I've never cheated on anyone physically and I don't intend to start now. Through this I learnt just how easy it is to cross that line and whilst I can never justify having an affair I can understand how they can start oh so easily.

Friday, 26 March 2010

The plan for last Christmas was very different to the norm. Unlike every other 25th December, I was only going spend the day with my boyfriend, Matt.

Just the two of us.

Together.

Alone.

Usually I go back home to my Mum and Dad’s on Christmas Day morning, but Matt was adamant that as his parents were overseas and we couldn’t see them, that it wasn’t fair to see mine on Christmas Day either. His wonderful idea was for us to spend the day together, just the two of us.

And I hated him for that.

Now you might think this arrangement was nice, romantic and reasonable. I saw it as controlling.

It was just another way of Matt stamping his authority on my life and stomping all over what I wanted and how I felt.
Also, in a change from the norm, we stayed in on Christmas Eve, which was the first time I had stayed in on the night before Christmas since I was about eighteen. It was always a tradition for me to go out with my friends, but not this year. I can understand that this makes me look like a complete doormat, and yes you would be right, but that’s what years of Matt wearing me down had done to me.

So it was Christmas Eve and Matt and I were staying in, drinking wine and watching the television. Rock and roll. During an advert break, Matt put his glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me.

“So are we going to start seriously looking for a house together in the New Year?” he asked with his usual steadiness.

Oh no. Not this conversation again.

“Er, maybe,” I replied as half-heartedly as I could.

I had been side-stepping this issue for months. Due to the way I felt about Matt I didn't want to sell my house so we could buy a place together. My dithering on the subject had finally taken its toll.

“What does ‘maybe’ mean?” Matt asked more aggressively. “It’s always ‘maybe’ or ‘in a few months’ with you. Do you actually want to buy a house with me?”

I couldn’t say yes as it would have been such a big fat lie. I sat there for a few seconds, staring at the carpet, before I found the courage to look at him.

“No. No I don’t want to buy a house with you,” I said quietly.

I couldn’t stop myself and everything came spilling out along with gallons of tears.

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t,” I sobbed. “I don’t feel the same about you anymore. I’ve not felt the same about you for months.”

The tears rolled down my face, and all the while Matt just sat there, calmly staring at his wine glass on the table with an almost icy detachment. I think he must have been letting everything sink in. After all, even though I'd tried to tell him a thousand times, he didn’t realise anything was wrong.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for months,” I continued as I wiped the saltwater from my face, “But every time I tried you just brushed me aside and didn’t listen to me.”

“Like when?” Matt replied angrily. “Not once have you EVER tried to talk to me about this. And why didn’t you tell me sooner? You said you’ve felt like this for months and you only tell me now? Well, happy f*cking Christmas!” he shouted angrily as he threw a cushion against the wall.

He was always good for a bit of dramatic effect, although at least he only chucked soft furnishings around.

“I couldn’t tell you about my feelings back then as I didn’t know how I felt.” I continued. “You always seemed to convince me that it was all in my head, when it wasn’t. I can’t carry on. I can’t buy a house with you. I don’t want to sell my house....” my voice trailed off.

Matt was upset and very, very angry.

I decided not to mention Scott, as he was a recent distraction and I knew it would crush Matt. My feelings towards Matt had changed long before my flirtation with Scott began so I didn’t want to bring this up and cloud the water.

Despite that we still had plenty to talk about, and we stayed up until the early hours. Matt drank bottle after bottle of Prosecco which we’d bought for Christmas Day, whilst I just sipped on glasses of water. I needed a clear head.

Thursday, 25 March 2010

I picked up a bit of a groin strain at football practice last night. If you’re available for a spot of massage and would like to rub it better then that would be most appreciated! :-)x

What about his girlfriend?

We never spoke about her or my boyfriend Matt in our emails, but we obviously both knew that they existed.

Up until this point we hadn’t done anything wrong. Had we?

Physically, no. But mentally? Yes. Definitely yes.

I thought about Foxy Scott constantly at work. When I got home to see Matt I constantly compared him with Scott, and Scott always came out on top.

The email communication between Foxy Soctt and I had been getting increasingly flirty, and the way my heart pounded when I saw him couldn’t be attributed to anything else except that I fancied him. And I really fancied him. I imagined having sex with him when I was having sex with Matt. I imagined having sex with him when I was on my own.

I’ve heard people say before that having an affair in your head is much worse than cheating on your partner with a one night stand. I’ve never really understood what this meant before but now I got it.

A one night stand is more likely to happen after a shitload of alcohol in a weaker moment, not to be forgiven but probably not to be repeated either. In my head with Scott it was different because I had been getting to know him. I wanted him, but more so because in finding out about him I had started to fancy the person and not just his looks, as gorgeous as they were. I can now see that if you fall in love with someone in your heart, then you can betray them in your head, and this is what was happening now with me and Scott.

My relationship with Matt was nearing its natural end which is why I think I found it so easy to slip into it, but what did this mean for me? Was I no better than my ex-boyfriend the Evil Cockbag who shagged that woman from work? If I said yes to Scott’s indecent proposal and went anywhere near his groin then I would definitely be in the same category of cheating scum.

The Evil Cockbag started his dirty affair after working closely with a colleague. Did they start off their smutty liaison by emailing each other and getting increasingly flirty and close? Are the feelings I’m having for Scott and Matt the same feelings that the Evil Cockbag had about the woman from work and me?

Oh my God. I bet they are.

I bet I was his version of Matt.

And there it was. The realisation that I had come full circle and that I was exactly the same as my ex, the one who broke my heart and shat all over it.

Except I’m not though, am I?

I might have strayed in my head but I still hadn’t slept with anyone else. This didn’t really console me and I knew right then that Matt and I were over.

I knew that we could never get back what we once had before, and now there was a real reason to end the relationship as soon as possible: To stop me from sinking to the level of my cheating ex. If I sank to the same level as him then I couldn’t complain the next time a bloke messed me around, and I would probably deserve it.

I responded to Foxy Scott's request for a sexy massage by saying that I would love to rub his groin but my hands were cold and they would need to be warmed up first. I know I was being way too subtle for him to understand this meant “not now, but when I’ve sorted out my boyfriend mess and if you become single then I would love to.”

Monday, 22 March 2010

I don’t think I have ever looked forward to going in to work on a Monday morning as much as I did after my work’s Christmas do. After all, it was the Monday morning following the Saturday night when I kissed my colleague Foxy Scott. Accidentally, of course...

I arrived at just after half past eight, logged on to my computer and sorted myself out with a cup of tea. My desk overlooks the front of the building and the car park so I can see all the comings and goings, the deliveries, when the sandwich man arrives and most importantly who is blocking my car in. It all sounds remarkably trivial, but staring out of the window was quite a pastime of mine at work, and I found it much easier to dream about sexy rugby player Dan Carter whilst gazing out of the window instead of staring at my computer screen.

I’d already checked out Foxy Scott’s desk and seen that he hadn’t arrived yet. Was he in today? Oh God I hadn’t even considered that? No, don’t be stupid. In the text he sent to me yesterday he said that he’d see me today. Maybe he was ill?

I needn’t have worried. Five minutes later as I was waiting for all my emails to filter through, I caught sight of him walking from the bus stop and across the car park. I couldn’t believe it, but my heart flipped a beat. I felt the nervous excitement of butterflies in my stomach and all because I’d just seen him. You might think how ridiculous, but I had been counting down the hours until I saw him again from about 2am on Sunday morning.

I gave Foxy Scott a good twenty minutes to arrive, log on, and read his emails before I made sure he was at his desk and sashayed over.

Deep breaths. Come on girl, be calm. Look sexy.

I stood up and smoothed my dress across my thighs whilst breathing in slowly and steadily. I’ve been told that when I wear heels my bum wiggles, so I made my best effort to gently emphasize this as I walked towards him without looking like a bimbo-esque cartoon character. It seemed that the rest of the sales team were enjoying a well earned lie in, meaning that Foxy Scott was on his own.

“Yes, here you go,” I replied, feigning disappointment but smiling all the while. “Don’t go spending it all at once!”

Fernando Torres: You have a lot to answer for.

He laughed. “I’m really going to enjoy spending it. It’s a pleasure doing business with you!”

After the cash handover we didn’t make any more small talk. In fact, he seemed quite shy.

Maybe that’s the way that Sober Scott is, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me?

I have to admit that I felt a bit deflated on the walk back to my desk. I’d pictured us picking up where we left off at the Christmas party, all hidden looks and flirty banter. Maybe I wasn’t such a fanciable proposition in the cold light of day? Either way, I felt like a bit of a tit for working myself up into such a state, and I could have spent an extra half hour in bed instead of agonizing over what to wear.

After about fifteen minutes of feeling like an idiot and not really concentrating on work, I thought f*ck it and sent him an email. Nothing racy or suggestive, just something about me killing him if I found out that he bought anything related to his rubbish football team with my money. I decided that football was a safe area, and it’s how we had started talking in the first place and it might just get the conversation flowing again.

It was as if the floodgates had opened.

He emailed me back within a couple of minutes, and then we sent emails back and forth for the rest of the week. And the week after that. After two weeks we had become friends on Facebook and were sending each other messages outside of office hours.

In the couple of weeks before Christmas it all started off very innocently. We talked about sport a lot, and he told me more about the football team that he played for and sent me jokes about Liverpool FC. All this time, my heart beat faster when I saw him. We smiled at each other if we walked past each other’s desks, but we never spoke to each other face to face, which for some reason didn’t seem strange. I had no reason to go over to see the salesmen and he had no reason to come and speak to me. It would have looked odd if we had started chatting to each other and the rumour mill was something I was desperate to avoid.

All this time, I didn’t think really about my boyfriend Matt at all. Well, with the exception of the dreaded Christmas present and everything it meant. Somehow I pushed all that to the back of my mind.

Foxy Scott and I were emailing all day every working day, and from my experience with boys if they’re not interested in you they won’t make an effort. The fact that he was writing (often very flirty emails) meant that he was interested. He was such a distraction and it made me feel great. I loved how it felt when my stomach flipped when I saw him, or the uncontrollable smile I got when another email pinged into my inbox. The way I felt over these weeks was something that had been sorely missing from my relationship with Matt for well over a year. To say Matt and I had only been together nearly two and a half years: well, that wasn’t a good sign.

Then, just before work closed down for Christmas, the emails between Foxy Scott and I changed. It was the day after his football training and he started off by emailing me in his usual way, with some form of gentle piss taking and some flirty chit-chat. After my initial reply, he sent me a message that totally shocked me.

From Foxy Scott

If you see me walking a bit funny today it’s because I picked up a bit of a groin strain at football practice last night. If you’re available for a spot of massage and would like to rub it better then that would be most appreciated! :-) x

Saturday, 20 March 2010

The day after the work's Christmas party I had a hangover which felt like a slow and painful death.

The previous night I had got very, very drunk on tequila slammers, flirted unashamedly with sexy sales guy Foxy Scott from my office and made a bet with him about the outcome of a football match. Oh and I accidentally kissed him and got his phone number - all whilst my knob-jockey of a boyfriend was just around the corner.

After my rather eventful evening I woke up with a disgusting taste in my mouth.

It wasn't guilt. Weirdly I didn't feel bad about anything that had happened the previous night.

On the contrary, I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I would have to end it with my boyfriend, Matt.

No, the taste in my mouth was definitely alcohol related.

In fact, it was so bad, I was convinced that when I was asleep a hairy gorilla had sculpted me a bum banana and left it in there for me to suck on. Either that or I had fallen out of bed in the middle of the night and spent a few hours inadvertantly licking the carpet.

I was looking and feeling crud.

I stayed in bed for most of the day, especially as Matt’s horrendous drunken snoring had kept me awake for the majority of the night. When I finally peeled myself out from under the duvet it was about four in the afternoon, and I plonked myself down on the sofa - just in time for the football.

Ah, the football. Happily the game being shown was Liverpool v Arsenal. Come on boys and win me a tenner. Foxy Scott, your money will be mine.

That night, in between fitful sleep I’d gone over and over in my mind everything that had happened:

Foxy Scott telling me that he fancied me.

The flirting and the conversation.

The kiss.

It was weird, as I knew he had a girlfriend and I was pretty sure that they lived together and were happy, but then again people would think that Matt and I were happy so what does that say? After everything that happened to me when my previous boyfriend (the Evil Cockbag) slept with that woman from work I have always said I would never, ever cheat on anyone as the pain is just too much to take for the other person.

So what on earth was I contemplating now?

Foxy Scott and I both had other halves so nothing else could happen.

Could it?

Would I want it to?

Was I just flattered by the attention or was there something more to it?

Is this how affairs start? Is it this easy?

As I settled down to watch the game my mind wandered. Matt was sitting on the other chair, but happily when the football was on I wasn't not allowed to talk to him, so my quietness was taken for me just watching the game instead of mulling things over:

I was the one who initiated the kiss. I had asked Foxy Scott for his number.

I knew that I wasn’t happy in my relationship but I had never even contemplated doing anything like this before. Not that I knew what “this” was. The one thing I was starting to realise was that I couldn’t ignore my feelings for Matt much longer as it wasn’t fair on either of us.

I picked up my phone and started reading through the text messages that I’d sent and received the previous night. I felt butterflies in my stomach and smiled to myself. Ouch my head. As I curled up on the sofa my phone vibrated with a new message:

From Foxy Scott:Are you watching the game? Your team are going down! :-) x

Oh my God. He’s texted me. And with a kiss at the end!

He must have sobered up by now? I didn’t reply straight away – a girl doesn’t want to look too eager. I wondered if he was embarrassed by the messages he sent me last night. I mean, we shared an innocent(ish) kiss and then he sent me a string of text messages which basically said that he wanted to drag me back to his house and shag me silly.

I read the message again. The tone was quite flirty:

Your team are going down! :-) x

I suppose that a text about the football was a good ice breaker after last night’s antics, but the kiss was surplus to requirements if he was just being friendly. Was he?

All these thoughts going around in my head along with the background noise of the football lulled me back to sleep. I woke up with about half an hour of the game left and rubbed my eyes so I could focus on the TV screen. Arsenal were leading by two goals to one.

“Yeah, I do,” I replied. “For some reason I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think there must have been a pig or something in the bedroom, and it didn’t stop snoring all night.”

Matt snorted and crossed his arms before turning his attention back to the television.

Well he can f*ck off.

I rubbed my eyes and checked my phone. No new texts, but then again I hadn’t replied to Scott’s first message so I wasn’t surprised. He doesn’t want to look too eager either. I thought about it and rewrote the message about five times before I sent it. It read:

After much internal debate I didn’t put a kiss at the end. I figured that the smiley face would show that I was being friendly or flirty depending on how you look at it, and if he chose to respond then whatever he wrote would be a good indication of whether he was just being friendly or not.

One minute later.

Buzz.

From Foxy Scott:Your money is mine! I’m looking forward to going into work tomorrow to collect my winnings! :-)x

Thursday, 18 March 2010

So Foxy Scott and I kissed at our office Christmas party and swapped phone numbers in the space of a minute. My boyfriend Matt was just around the corner in the bar, but did I feel guilty? Did I hell. Matt was a manipulative arsehole who was going to propose to me on Christmas Day.

But what was I doing?

The fact that Foxy Scott had a girlfriend didn’t even enter my head. I know, I'm a bitch right?

Well maybe. I was drunk and caught up in the moment. I felt attractive and desired again by someone who had been listening to what I had to say without rubbishing what I thought. The fact that he was drop dead gorgeous and told me that he fancied me as well made me feel fantastic.

I also felt the thrill of the illicit: No one else knew what had just happened. It was our little secret.

I left Foxy Scott and returned to the bar where everyone seemed to be getting ready to leave. Time had flown and it was about half one in the morning. Wow, I must have been a bit more drunk than I’d realised.

I stood chatting and saying goodbyes to my work mates as Foxy Scott walked past me. He didn’t say goodbye and he didn’t even look at me. Part of me wondered if it was because Matt was right there or if it was because he was embarrassed about what had just happened.

Before I could get too upset, I felt my mobile phone vibrate in my bag. Matt was busy arranging a night out with the team leader, so I unzipped my bag and saw that I’d received a new message:

From Foxy Scott:I want you.

My heart started pounding again, and I clutched my phone to my chest in case anyone caught sight of the screen.

I glanced around but I couldn’t see him, but then out of the corner of my eye I spotted him waiting for a taxi outside. I was standing slightly away from everyone else, so I immediately sent a reply:

To Foxy Scott:Oh really? When?

Quite where I was getting this bravado from is beyond me. I can only think that after months of feeling like the inferior person in my relationship and due to a whole load of sexual frustration it bubbled up from under the surface. The sex life that Matt and I had was no more than a once a week going through the motions quick pump-pump squirt, and I hadn’t feel my whole body tingle like it was now in so long I couldn’t even remember.

My phone vibrated.

From Foxy Scott:Come back to mine tonight x

No.

No that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t just going to run outside and jump into a taxi with him, leaving my boyfriend behind. Although it was so very tempting. I decided to play along thought as I was enjoying the buzz of adrenaline.

To Foxy Scott:Sorry I can’t. I would have loved to though ;)

Buzz.

From Foxy Scott:OK. Speak to you tomorrow x

Ahh yes, the football game was tomorrow. We had made a drunken wager on the outcome of the game, and the winner would pocket the princely sum of £10. Yes, we're talking big money here folks.

I put my phone back in my bag and smiled contentedly to myself. Knowing something that no-one else did even though they had only been metres away made me feel like I had electricity flowing through me.

Matt finally came over as he’d finished organizing his social calendar and we went outside and jumped in a taxi. Fortunately Foxy Scott had already left so there was no awkward goodbye between the three of us.

“Did you have a good night?" Matt said whilst stifling a yawn. "I thought it was alright. A bit shit though.".

“I thought it was really good actually," I replied. "Much better than last year.”

And I really, really meant it.

But what the hell was I thinking? Foxy Scott wasn't single and neither was I.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

So there I was at my office Christmas party, flirting unashamedly with Foxy Scott, a man who wasn't my boyfriend. The fact that Matt, my boyfriend, was only metres away didn't bother me at all. I mean, he was a total wanker and was going to propose to me on Christmas Day...

But back to the party...

Despite all the flirting I knew that Foxy Scott had a girlfriend as she came to the work's do last year. For some reason she wasn’t with him tonight. Or had they split up?

“So how come you’ve come on your own tonight? Did your girlfriend not fancy it?” I asked, glancing at Matt who seemed to have realised that Scott and I had been chatting for quite some time.

A large part of me hoped that Scott would say he was single.

“Oh, she’s off visiting her family this weekend and she left early,” he replied.

Oh. Never mind.

I was glad that she hadn’t been able to make it though, as I was enjoying the attention and the flirty exchanges. I very much doubt we would have been having this conversation if his missus had been in tow.

Despite this, everything was all very innocent. True, there might have been some gentle flirting going on, but that’s what office Christmas parties are for, right?

Before tonight Scott and I had only exchanged about two words with each other, but now I was learning all about his favourite bands, the football team he plays for and what he wanted for Christmas.

I wasn’t the only one asking questions and he seemed really interested in me too. It’s almost like we were on a first date but without the expectation of a dodgy kiss at the end of the night. He was being really lovely.

And did I mention that he’s sexy?

Foxy Scott and I had been chatting for about forty five minutes when Matt stumbled over, having completed his monologue on effective management styles and patronising one of the team leaders. He pulled a chair over and sat next to me, and much to my annoyance I was obliged to introduce him to (Foxy) Scott.

“Matt, this is Scott. He’s one of the sale guys at my company. Scott, this is Matt. My boyfriend.” I sighed.

I knew full well that my lovely ego-boosting flirtatious conversation was now over.

After about ten minutes of sitting there watching Matt and Scott needling each other as they talked about football, I could tell that the atmosphere had changed so I excused myself and went to the loo. When I returned, Matt was sitting on his own.

“He just seemed annoyed that I was interrupting your conversation. I’ve been watching you both and I think he was flirting with you,” he said.

Yeah. And?

Of course I denied it to keep to peace as I didn’t want to start having a row in the middle of my work’s Christmas party. However I was secretly pleased that Matt was pissed off. My self-esteem had been given a massive boost too. I didn’t think Foxy Scott even knew I existed, and yet he had spent the best part of an hour flirting with me and talking with really good knowledge about the teams that I loved. I was having a really good night.

Desperate to avoid just sitting with Matt, I persuaded him that we should go and mingle as I didn’t want to appear anti-social. We headed back to the bar where Round 15 of tequila slammers was in full flow.

I talked to some of my team for a while and Matt picked up his earlier conversation about how to be an effective manager. Yawn. By this point everyone was pretty drunk – it must have been about midnight but I’d totally lost track of time. I was lucky in a way as no one commented on how I’d been talking to Foxy Scott for so long as they’d all been distracted by the big reveal of new couple in the office.

We’d all known that Sean and Charlotte been seeing each other for ages, but it had never been confirmed until tonight when they were all over each other like a pair of frotting Bonobo monkeys. I was relieved in a way, as my colleagues teasing me would just have wound Matt up even more.

After a couple more drinks I needed the loo again, so I excused myself and started walking round the bar. The loos were hidden from the entire bar area at the other side of the room.

I checked my face in the mirror, and despite the several tequilas and all the wine I was still looking quite good. No smudged mascara, face not too shiny. A quick blot of powder and I was ready to go.

I was still putting my makeup back into my bag as I opened the door back to the bar so I wasn’t really concentrating. As I walked out of the door I practically fell over Foxy Scott who was just leaving the gents.

“Oh sorry!” I said, all apologetically. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” he replied. “I was having much more fun earlier though,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Oh yeah? Is that right?” I laughed.

Usually I would feel so awkward in a situation like this, but for some reason I felt über-confident.

“Really?” I said, not even attempting to mask the surprise in my voice. “Well I think you’re really good looking too.”

The words had barely left my mouth and without thinking I pulled Scott towards me and passionately kissed him.

I still remember the look on his face as my lips withdrew from his. We only kissed for a few seconds, but his expression displayed his total disbelief. I mean, my boyfriend was just around the corner and anyone could have wandered over caught us in the act.

I just felt completely exhilarated. My heart was pounding and I could feel my cheeks flushing red. I hadn’t felt such a surge of adrenaline in years.

“Anyway,” I said, trying to regain a little composure, “You’ll have to give me your number so I can take mick when Arsenal get stuffed by Liverpool tomorrow and I win our bet!”

Sunday, 14 March 2010

So there I was at my office Christmas party, when Foxy Scott, a gorgeous sales guy, caught my eye and started to walk over. The fact that Matt, my boyfriend, was only metres away didn't bother me at all. I mean, he was a total wanker and was going to propose to me on Christmas Day...

Only two people in the whole world call sexy sales man Scott from my office Foxy Scott.

They are me (obviously) and my team leader (who is gay).

We coined the name at a work’s conference earlier in the year as it was better than hobnobbing with the management with a fixed grin plastered across our faces. It’s not often that we all get together as a company and this was one of those corporate nipple-twisting days when all the offices from across the country meet up to be bored to tears listening to wanky management presentations.

The whole day had been pretty tedious so by the time we got to the evening and had sampled the delights of the free bar, my team leader and I were pretty tipsy and we decided to survey the company’s male population and gave them rankings. Scott came out at the top of both our lists, so the name stuck.

Scott (a.k.a. Foxy Scott) is twenty eight and has worked for the company in the sales team for just over a year. Looks wise, he is about 5ft 10” tall, medium build with light brown hair, a gorgeous smile and bright blue eyes. He plays football for a local amateur team so he is pretty athletic, he supports Arsenal and that is about all I knew about him.

He sounds really plain, but believe me he is undeniably handsome. Sometimes I’d hear him on the phone on my way to a meeting and swoon as he worked his sexy suave salesman voice. It wasn’t smarmy or the usual salesman slick, but deep and lilting. I wonder if he won a lot of business from women. Well he would if they arranged a meeting with him I’m sure...

Anyway back to the Christmas do...

I was sitting at a table near the bar after one too many tequila slammers when Foxy Scott came and sat next to me and started chatting. I could tell that he’d had quite a few beers himself as he was always relatively quiet at work (for a salesman anyway) but now he started to jabber away.

“Well hello,” he said as he pulled up a chair. “What are you doing all on your own?”

I have to admit I was surprised he knew who I was, never mind the fact that he was sitting down next to me for a chat.

“I’m just having a breather from all the tequila slammers,” I replied, laughing.

And a break from my overbearing boyfriend.

“Yeah I know what you mean,” Scott continued. “They’re absolutely killer. So are you having a good night then?”

“Yeah not bad,” I said as I took a sip of my vodka lime and soda. “It’s a pity we’re not in the centre of town. It would have been loads better to move on to some bars.”

“Definitely,” Scott replied as he eyed me with his twinkling blue eyes.

We started to talk about a lot of random stuff and we sparked up a brilliant conversation. I think Scott must sit at work and take everything in, as he knew which rugby and football teams I support and talked with great knowledge about them both. Purely by coincidence, my football team (Liverpool) was playing his (Arsenal) that weekend, so there was lots of friendly and flirty banter going back and forth.

“I bet you ten pounds that your team loses on Sunday,” I said confidently as Scott sipped his pint.

“Are you sure about that?” he said laughing. His face was animated and gorgeous, and he looked great in his casual black jumper and jeans.

Sexy great.

“Definitely,” I replied.

No, no, no! Never bet on anything when you’re drunk.

I couldn’t back down now though. This was fun.

“OK then, you’re on,” Scott said, offering me his hand so we could shake on the bet.

As he held out his hand, a tantalizing smile played on his lips.

I took his hand and he shook it firmly before he leant back in his chair and smiled at me.

Friday, 12 March 2010

After finding out that Matt was seemingly going to propose to me on Christmas day, I did what any messed up girl would have done in that situation: I pretended like it had never happened and threw myself into the festive spirit. Which in my case, was called vodka.

The following week after Presentgate it was my office Christmas party, and whilst everyone else was draping themselves in tinsel and positioning themselves under the mistletoe, I was quiet and withdrawn. Despite my best efforts I just couldn’t stop thinking about the present and what it meant.

I couldn’t split up with Matt just before Christmas but I couldn’t bear the thought of opening our gifts together on Christmas Day morning and just how awful it was going to be. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him and I didn’t know what to do.

I decided the best course of action was to go to the office party and get leathered. Which is exactly what I did.

Work’s dos are usually naff where I work, although in previous years there’s been the saving grace that the venue has been in the centre of town. This means that after you’ve eaten the rock hard Brussels sprouts and slab of Christmas pudding you can F-off somewhere else before the embarrassing dancing starts.

Not this year.

Due to the “late booking” (read cost savings), the Christmas party was at a hotel in the middle of nowhere. It was miles away from anything and there was absolutely nothing to do nearby. Well, unless you class dogging as a great way to spend a few hours. The park just up the road was apparently a bit of a hotspot for sexual deviants, and with a quick flash of your headlights you would be up to your eyes in spunk filled tissues faster than you could say "honk if you're horny".
(In case you’re wondering, I have a friend who is a policeman and he told me about it. I've never been there myself - honest).

As getting jiggy with it in my car with sleazy old men peering through the sunroof and wanking themselves off really wasn’t my thing it looked like I was stuck in the hotel.

It was OK though as we could bring our partners, so hurrah, Matt was with me. Pass the wine please...

The meal passed without event and I was actually having quite a good time, although I admit that the free-flowing alcohol did help.

After the meal we all migrated to the bar area, where there was an open fire and plenty of tables. One of the team leaders and his girlfriend were pretty big drinkers, so tequila slammers were soon being ordered for everyone and lined up on the bar. I didn’t complain as he was he probably earned way too much, and no-one stopped him as he bought round after round and refused to let anyone else pay. Fair enough.

One.

Two.

Three.

Lick.

Gulp.

Slam.

Suck.

Ugggh.

I’d lost sight of Matt by this point as I think he was talking to/at someone about different styles of management. I figured that he was probably in his element as he was giving his opinion to others, so I sat down at one of the tables round the corner from the bar.

The office where I work is mostly filled with my direct colleagues but there are a few sales men that sit at the far end. The sales guys are all a really good laugh and I always chat to them on my way to the kitchen.

Well, I chat to all but one of them, who from now on I shall refer to as Foxy Scott.

As I sat down and massaged feet which ached from standing in my heels, I glanced across the room and saw Foxy Scott leaning against the bar, looking at me.

Tuesday, 9 March 2010

I know I've started dating now but I think it's time for me to get something off my chest.

Before I split up with my now ex-boyfriend I was a bit naughty.

I guess you could say I had a bit of a rebound before I actually split up with him.

Well kind of... It’s halfway between that and the push I needed to realise that the relationship was over.

Yeah I know, I'm a terrible person, but as with most things in life - it was complicated.

I’m not proud about it but the feelings I had were something that I hadn’t felt in a long time, and they jolted me to do something I’d been putting off for months: end it with my boyfriend and leave me where you found me in my first post: Tragically fantasising about rugby players.

Matt is my latest ex and we were together for two and a half years before we finally split up. I don’t want to go into too much detail about the ins and outs of our relationship as unlike the random dates I did care for him.

However the big problem we had was that he was a complete and utter arsehole.

Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh...

As our relationship progressed it turned out that his opinion was the only one that mattered. Great eh? The foundations of a happy and healthy relationship, right there... I tried to talk to him on several occasions about how I felt and how things weren’t right, but it started to emerge that if he thought there wasn’t a problem then there wasn’t a problem. I would be patted on the head and brushed off to go quietly mad, wondering how he managed to manipulate me so easily.

Of course, that was after I’d stood behind his back, furiously flicking him with the V's.

Quite often if we were out with other people and I made a statement, Matt would step in with the line:

“No dear, that’s not right.”

It was a proverbial patronising pat on the head. There, there, run along and stop being such a silly girl.

Cock.

I kept hoping that my feelings for him would just click back into place and I would feel like I did for the first year of our relationship, but it just didn’t happen and the months passed by.

I know what you're thinking, why did I put up with it? Well the answer is, I let the relationship continue because Matt was an expert at manipulation. By the end I felt like I was losing my identity and I didn't know what I thought about things anymore. But he did it in a very subtle way, which made me question if he was messing with my head or not.

As I said, it was complicated.

If I hadn’t found the Christmas present that he’d bought for me then I don’t know if I’d have got the wakeup call which pushed me to call it a day...

I knew that Matt had bought my Christmas present as he smugly announced it one day in early December while we were having lunch. Now I’m not the best at surprises, and if someone tells me that there’s a present for me hidden somewhere in the house then it's guaranteed I’ll turn the place upside down until I find it.

So I waited for him to go out and then I accidentally ransacked his room.

I was hoping that he’d paid attention to the jewellery catalogue I’d left open on the coffee table and he’d take the hint and have a look. I’d circled some bracelets and necklaces and written “I really love this one” in a subtle effort to guide his purchase.

After about half an hour of rummaging around in his bedroom (and carefully placing everything back exactly as I found it) I stumbled across the beautifully gift wrapped present stuffed at the back of his sock drawer.

He had definitely bought me some jewellery as I recognised the wrapping paper they use in the shop. The present was wrapped in a small box about 10cm x 10cm and about 4cm deep. I studied it for a few seconds to try and work out what he could have bought me based on what I’d hinted at, and then I gave the box a shake.

Something inside knocked against the wall of the box. Odd.

I shook it again. Same thing.

I couldn’t think what it could be.

Was it a box within a box?

Oh f*ck. It sounded like a smaller box within this box.

Shit.

The only box smaller than this is a ring box.

Oh my God.

Had he bought me a ring?

Shit.

Please God don’t let it be an engagement ring.

Oh shit shit shit.

At that moment my heart sunk to the floor.

Matt proposing to me on Christmas Day was the worst thing that I could possibly imagine happening to me.

I sat on the bed holding the perfectly wrapped Christmas present in my hands. I looked at the dainty snowflakes on the wrapping paper and its pretty gold ribbon with a massive lump in my throat.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What was I going to do?

I didn’t want to marry Matt. I didn’t want to pledge my heart and soul to such a pompous wanker.

It had been going on for months. Matt wanted us to buy a house together, but because of the way I felt I didn’t want to go down that route at all. I owned my home so I would have to sell, whilst Matt was renting so it was easy for him. I would have all the risk and I just couldn’t see the reward. I had been putting off house hunting for months but now with the prospect of him getting down on bended knee I knew I couldn’t take it anymore.

I put the present back in the gift bag, covered it with socks and closed the drawer.

Sunday, 7 March 2010

Well, maybe a bit but not very much when compared with everyone I knew when I was younger.

Even when I was stumbling around my university campus, drunk and horny after £1 a pint night I was never that promiscuous. I snogged plenty of gorgeous shaggy haired indie boys but that was generally as far as it went.

The only men I actually had sex with were my boyfriends (with only a couple of exceptions), and I was always ridiculously serious about them as that was all I knew and was everything that I wanted.

Looking back, I now know that my lack of self-confidence as a naive 20 year old stopped me from whipping through a long line of blokes. Not that I consider myself to be a man eater now you understand.

Saying that, the creation of GHD straighteners is nothing short of a minor miracle as far as I'm concerned. The stupid frizzy blonde hair of my youth is definitely a thing of the past, which helps when I'm trying to flick my hair around and look seductive. For a start, I don't look like I'm wearing a bird's nest on my head or like I've been shagged through a hedge backwards.

All this all leads me to my question for today: Just how many is too many?

I'll be honest with you. I've slept with eight men.

Yes eight. I don't think that's too many for eleven years of sexual history, do you?

OK so I'm not exactly Mother Theresa but I'm hardly a whore of Babylon either. And yes I've done "stuff" with other guys too (which I'm not counting by the way...).

The thing is I've always been a bit tradtional and only slept with guys I was way to serious about or gave my heart to all too freely.

Well, most of the time. There are a couple of notable exceptions, namely Craig and Sexy Motorbike Guy (who I will tell you about one day, I promise).

I just think that I suck at being a slut.

Yep, as Serenityville said, I think I'm a relationship kind of girl...

Friday, 5 March 2010

I know that Craig isn’t the one for me and as horrible as it sounds, he has served his purpose. I really don’t think that the sex side of meeting someone new is going to be an issue now, all thanks to my dalliance with him.

I also didn't set out to match Craig up against my Perfect 10 list, but as it seems that I’ve been considering his merits all day I might as well...

1. Looks

Craig is as fit fit FIT as a bag of chips and twice as sexy. So it’s a tick in this category.

2. Sense of humour

Sort of. We had a bit of a laugh but more often than not it was when we were hideously drunk. The rest of the time it was really awkward and I wanted to set fire to my hair just to give us something to talk about. No point here.

3. Being Down to Earth

Craig works in the building trade and is very down to earth so it's a yes here.

4. Loyalty and Trust

No idea as I didn’t get to know him well enough.

5. Kindness

Er, no. He drops a point as he didn’t seem to care at all about how I was feeling during my Grandma’s funeral. Wanker.

6. Have a strong sense of family

He works for the family business and he still lives with his parents. LOSER. But that'll be a yes in this category...

7. Solvency

Craig has a job but still lives chez Mummy and Daddy, so I’m not sure where he falls in this category. Maybe half a point?

8. Ambition and a drive to succeed

He did tell me that one day he will take over his Dad’s business, so it's a tick in this box. Still, it would be nice if Craig had the ambition to break out of the shackles of his family and strike out on his own. When I write everything about him living with his parents/working with his Dad/aspiring to take over the family business, to me it's starting to sound like some f*cked up Lancastrian version of the Waltons. Goodnight Craigy-kins! Goodnight Jim-Bob!Kill me. Kill me now.

9. Different interests

He likes cars and motor sport and doesn’t like rugby, so it’s a yes for different interests.

10. Romance

Not really. Nope, not at all.

Marks out of 10: 5.5

Conclusion:

Overall a bit of an average contender but not a bad starter for ten.

Craig is VERY strong in the looks department and is very physically attractive, but he is lacking in so many other areas.

I fancied the arse off him physically, but we just didn’t click. And he was a bit shit in bed.
Still, I don’t think 5.5 is a bad score to start with though, especially as he was supposed to be a fun fling.

And on the most part he was...

All that aside, I can't believe the year is flying by so quickly and we're already into March!

Still there was a very big positive to come out of my first dalliance as a single girl: I know I've definitely still got it!

Wednesday, 3 March 2010

Last week when he suggested coming over to see me I thought it would be a good idea to take him to watch a game of rugby. When I asked him if he fancied it he was really positive, especially as Sunday's opposition was a strong team and he’s never been to see a live match before.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well after our less than fantastic second date, the answer was plenty.

The game started at 3pm so Craig and I had plenty of time to enjoy all the difficult silences and awkward moments in between waking up and kick off.

We were just about ready to set off to the ground when my phone started to ring. I fished it out of my bag whilst Craig leant against the kitchen table.

“It is my Dad,” I said to Craig. “I really should take it, just in case”.

“Yeah, no worries,” Craig replied.

“Hi Dad,” I said cheerily. “I’ve got to be quick as I’m just about to set off for the rugby.”

Craig smiled at me, before motioning that he was going to nip to the loo before we left. He bounded up the stairs as my Dad replied.

“Hiya love, the rugby is why I’m giving you a call.”

I was at a loss.

“I just wanted to arrange where we’re going to meet at the ground today,” he continued.

Oh shit. I had completely forgotten.

Sunday was the game that my Dad had arranged to come and watch with me, my Uncle John, and his friend Roger.

Shit, shit, shit.

I had to meet up with them as it has been arranged for months.

Shit. How could I have forgotten? And what was I going to do about Craig?

“Are you still there?” my Dad asked.

His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I replied.

Upstairs I could hear that Craig was finishing up in the loo and was washing his hands. I needed to think quick.

“Erm, I’ll meet you outside the bar under the south stand,” I said to my Dad. “Oh, and it’s a little bit awkward, as I’m bringing Craig. You know, the guy I went out on a date with the other week.”

“Oh are you now?” my Dad replied in a teasing tone.

“Yeah. I totally forgot that you were coming today....” my voice trailed off as Craig bumped down the stairs.

“OK then love,” said my Dad sounding distracted. I could hear Roger chatting away in the background. “I’ll see you there in about half an hour.” And then he put the phone down, leaving me smiling uneasily at Craig who was now standing at the bottom of the stairs.

I smiled back at him nervously and said:

“I’m afraid there’s been a slight change of plan.”

I knew that if I told Craig just minutes before the game that my Dad was going to be there he would freak out (and quite rightly too) and it would look like something I’d been planning all along. All of a sudden I was about to be cast in the role of a Sharon Stone-esque bunny-boiler.

Wonderful.

There was no getting out of it though. I explained the situation to Craig and apologised profusely, and despite looking like a total idiot I think I managed to convince him that it wasn’t an elaborate plan for me to introduce him to my Dad.

Or maybe not.

Craig and I would spend half an hour or so with my Dad and chums then go and watch the rest of the match on our own. It would all be fine and it wasn't going to be an issue.

Craig looked really foxy as we walked towards the rugby stadium. He was wearing a black Ralph Lauren jacket and jeans, and I think he must have had his hair cut since I saw him the other weekend. It was super short on the nape of his neck and it looked so delicious that I just wanted to stroke it.

In the same way as when he arrived yesterday, the sober Craig was proving difficult to speak to. He was very quiet and didn’t want or seem to have much to say. It couldn't all be down to nerves about randomly meeting my Dad, could it? No, I didn’t think so, as he was like that before he started on the beers last night and also this morning.

I tentatively took hold of his hand, and we walked along holding hands for a while before he commented that he was freezing and they are firmly placed in back his pockets. OK then.

I called my Dad and I met him next to the bar area as Roger and John were getting a beer. Craig disappeared off to the loo, probably to shart himself and look for an escape route whilst I had a word with my Dad and ask him not to give Craig a hard time. As Roger and John arrived back with beers, Craig appeared from the gents.

Great. Here go the introductions.

Just as I was about to introduce Craig to them all, simultaneously my Dad, John and Roger all held out their hands and said in unison:

“Hi, I’m Kate’s Dad, John.”

Oh my God I just I died on the spot.

I didn’t know where to look and neither did Craig as my Dad and the others all laughed heartily at their hilarious joke. Let’s just go into the ground please so I can die amongst the other fans.

What then occured I can only describe as the most toe curlingly awkward eighty minutes of my life.

The game itself is great as for once my team were unstoppable. I couldn't enjoy it though as I was stuck in between Craig and my Dad, and I wasn't entirely sure what to do with myself.

Craig fully retreated into his shell and only peeked his head out a couple of times to ask why a decision had gone the way of the other team. All the time my Dad worked the intimidating strong and silent look (albeit unknowingly) which I think made Craig feel even more self conscious.

To make matters worse I couldn't bring myself to abandon my Dad after he'd come all the way over to Leeds to see me. Guilt is a wonderful thing, isn't it?

This of course meant that I felt like a total tit for the entire duration of the game. Craig was practically mute.

What a brilliant idea this was.

I have never been so relieved to hear the final whistle before in my life as it meant that the torture was over. (Happily my team were fantastic and clinched their first home league win of the season. That really was the only positive of the day, and I'm gutted that I couldn't really enjoy it).

My Dad, uncle and Roger headed off in one direction and luckily as my car was parked at the other side of the stadium Craig and I left via another exit.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said again as Craig and I walked back to my car. “I honestly totally forgot that they were coming along today.”

“Yeah, I know. You said that already,” Craig replied sounding distinctly annoyed.

My apologies were becoming embarrassing. Craig must have thought that I was a total nutter.

As we walked in silence it was really obvious that there was nothing between us. He was quiet, the scant conversation stilted and it felt like such an effort on the drive home that we didn’t really say much and just listened to the Top 40 on the radio instead.

When we got back to my house Craig immediately rushed upstairs to collect his things. Five minutes later he is in my lounge giving me a peck on the cheek and telling me that he would speak to me soon. Two minutes later he was in his car and heading off, the engine of his car growling loudly as he drove away.

What a f*ck up.
What a total and utter disaster.

I’ve got a not so funny feeling that Craig and I won’t be seeing each other again.

I’m a bit disappointed if that turns out to be the case, but deep down I know that the past couple of days have proven that we don’t actually click and there’s no real spark between us apart from when we’ve both consumed a few units of alcohol.

It’s funny, but after our weekend together I do feel slightly disappointed. Craig was only supposed to be a bit of fun and the guy to help me get over my fears of sex and being naked: my Getting Back in the Saddle Guy as it were - but I still feel a bit deflated.

I’m really doing my own head in about Craig as I just can’t see it for what it is, or was.

Why is it that even now I’m looking for more? Maybe it’s just the way I’m programmed and maybe I just don’t do being single very well?

Or maybe it’s because in the back of my mind I’ve got the Perfect 10 list just waiting to be started on. I think it’s probably all of the above.

Usually I am be the first one to request that the channel gets changed to Soccer Saturday. Yes, I am one of those weird women who really love football, but this is just a little bit rude don’t you think? He’s only just arrived and he’s more interested in the football than he is with me.

Hmm, that's another clue that he's only come to see me so he can see me and come.

As we sit on the couch and watch the scores roll in, Craig is quiet and really introverted. I slyly check him out from the corner of my eye. He is still foxy though, and his plain white t-shirt hugs his arms nicely.

Foxy yes, but he looks really uncomfortable and not quite sure what to do with himself.

As the final football scores filter through, I decide that the best course of action is to get ready to go out, as at least this will give us something to do. We both head upstairs and get changed: me in my bedroom, him in the bathroom. We might have seen each other naked already, but somehow it doesn’t feel right for us to watch each other strip off and tart ourselves up.

After half an hour of primping and preening I am ready to go, so I head back downstairs where Craig is already waiting for me, watching ‘The A-Team’ on some obscure satellite channel.

“You look nice,” he says as I enter the lounge.

OK so that's one brownie point back.

“Thanks,” I reply, and feel my cheeks flushing slightly.

I have made an effort tonight as I’m wearing one of my nicest dresses, with black opaque tights and glossy black patent heels.

Maybe he is just being shy?

I’ve booked us a table at a bustling and popular Italian restaurant tonight, as during our text conversation in the week Craig let slip that Italian food is his favourite.

The taxi arrives promptly and whisks us off into town. Craig has never been to Leeds before and I am determined to show him what a brilliant night out it can be.

We arrive at the restaurant, and it is busy and buzzing with a really lively atmosphere. The swish waiter takes our drinks order, and as Craig is drinking beer it looks like I’m having a bottle of wine to myself.

Well, it is much cheaper than ordering it by the glass...

As opposed to our first date this time the conversation is a bit more stilted, and at times it feels like we are running out of things to say. I try my best, and eventually I have to resort to talking about Preston North End football team to keep the conversation flowing.

I know. Things were that bad. Luckily for me I’d done a bit of research.

This seems to work though and things start to pick up. Or is it because we are a bit tipsy now? Either way, I figure that as he is here we might as well try and have as good a time as possible.

The meal is delicious, and I can’t get enough of the butternut squash risotto and rocket and parmesan salad. Craig opts for a Toscana pizza, which is piled high with Parma ham and wild mushrooms. We are getting on OK, although I’m sure the Pinot Grigio has something to do with it.

I take Craig to a couple of bars, and the night follows a similar course to our first date:

In the first bar we chat and drink politely.

On the way to the second bar we hold hands.

By the time I’m pressed up against the wall being passionately kissed in bar number three, we decide it’s time to head back to my house.

We have sex, but this time it is distinctly lacking in fireworks and the movie style ripping off of clothes. Craig does the weird closing of the eyes thing again and it feels like we don’t connect at all. If I’m honest it doesn’t really do anything for me this time, and as attractive as Craig is, it is starting to become a bit of an effort to spend time with him.

He is a quiet bloke whereas I am an extrovert by nature, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I read too much into the silences. I wouldn’t mind if the quiet times felt easy and relaxed, but they don’t. I can almost feel them hanging in the air like a flashing neon sign which says: “You two have no spark”.

I look at Craig as he falls asleep about five seconds after coming and realise that even though he is young, fit, and sexy and is perfect fling material, that maybe this fling needs to be flung.

About Me

Newly single and rapidly approaching my thirtieth birthday, I’ve realised that I need a new game plan in order to find the drop dead gorgeous, rugby-playing boyfriend that I’ve been lusting after for years. Or at the very least: a man just like him...